Make You Feel My Love
by landsliding
Summary: "Having this dream of making it big someday isn't crazy, is it?" She continues as if he didn't even interrupt her. "You believe we'll make it, don't you?" "Eventually," he says. "But maybe things like this take time."


A/N: I must say, writing Finn and Rachel in a 1950's setting such as this one was quite enjoyable. I just hope it shows. And I hope you like it. Please, do enjoy.

...

**MAKE YOU FEEL MY LOVE**

...

Finn Hudson thinks Rachel Berry's talented. Fantastically talented, almost.

Sure, her constant reciting of the monologues she manages to memorize in an instant get a little old, but the girl's practically destined for the show business. He knows it and she - of all people - knows it all too well.

So he takes it like a man, monologues and all, and decides he'll be the supportive kind of guy through it all.

That's what good boyfriends do, right?

He can't imagine being anything but a good boyfriend to Rachel Berry. She's practically a star-in-the-making. Practically.

...

It's a rainy Sunday afternoon in the middle of the summer and she's managed to sneak away from home for twenty minutes, pedal her bike down to the corner just near the post office, her hair in two braids and her sundress in ruins.

Sighing, he can only look to her with a chuckle. "You look like you've been bathing in mud with horses all afternoon."

She only rolls her eyes and let's out a sigh so dramatic he could swear she's destined for Broadway or something right then and there.

"Well," he breathes, "you still look pretty beautiful to me, if that counts for anything."

Ducking her head to hide her flushed cheeks, she only begins to chuckle. "You think so?"

"Yeah," he nods. "Yeah, I do."

"Well," she dips her head, "that's awfully sweet. I, for one, think I look like something out of 'The Wizard of Oz', so it's a little bit comforting knowing someone else thinks differently."

"You do," he says.

She arches a brow and lifts up one of her golden flats to her bike pedal, resting it there as she leans closer into the metal.

"You look like one of those munchkins," he starts. "Like... one of those cute lollipop munchkins. They're tiny. And cute. And they sing really high but they're really fun to watch. Like you."

She chuckles. "I suppose I'm going to have to style my hair like them too? Do you happen to have any gel you'd let me borrow? Hm?"

Walking closer to her, he reaches out his hands, letting them graze down to her waist. For a moment, he forgets they're in public, letting his hand slide down to the seam of her dress, lifting the fabric up with his finger and grazing her skin. That is, until a crossing guard trails along by, whistles, and causes Rachel to boost up instantly.

"Finn!" She says, giving a slap to his arm. "One day you're going to get us arrested, I swear."

"It's only more time to spend with you," he answers, a snicker painted across his lips.

"As if we don't see each other enough," she says, lifting her hand so it's near her face, glancing down to the time the white band around her left wrist reads. "Speaking of seeing one another, I'll have to make a run for it in five minutes or less if you ever plan on seeing me again. Daddy's starting to worry, I know it."

"Too bad the both of your parents hate me," he sighs. "With a passion."

"Well go," he says, bringing his hand to her lower back. "I wouldn't wanna get you into any more trouble."

"You didn't get me in any trouble," she says in a huff, shifting her body so his hand is no longer grazing her backside. "They were just angry they walked in on their little girl locking lips with the Hudson boy, that's all."

"They think I have no future," he tells her. "Admit it. Your parents think I'm going nowhere; that I won't make anything of myself."

Stuttering on her words, she nervously kicks her flat onto the pavement. "Not those words, per say..."

"But they _do_ think I've got no future," he breathes, shutting his eyelids. "Rachel, let me prove it to you. Let me prove I'll make something of myself."

Arching a brow, Rachel only lunges backward once he lets his fingertips grab ahold of her tiny hands.

"Move in with me," he says. "We'll rent an apartment far away from here and we'll both make something of ourselves."

"That's insanity."

"Is it?" He asks, reaching for her hands once more. "You're destined to be on Broadway. I'll... I'll find something I'm good at. New York City's got tons and tons of options, I'm sure."

"I've never heard you talk so much before," she says slowly. "Not all at once, anyway. Now, what is it about New York that's so appealing to you?"

"It's not so much appealing to me as it is to you," he says in almost one breath, like he's enthused. "You love New York City. You... you wanna live there. I know you do."

"Eventually, but... I'm nineteen," she breathes. "I'm nineteen years old and unlike the other parents around town, my parents aren't so rushed on getting rid of me."

"But they wouldn't be," he tells her. "You'd be leaving yourself. You'd... you'd be leaving because you _want_ to."

"Maybe I don't want to."

Leaning forward, he kisses her on the temple almost too quickly for her to notice.

"Well," he starts, "maybe you'll change your mind."

She turns away from him, pivoting sharply in the ground and latching onto the handles of her bike. Not a 'goodbye' or a 'see you around' or even a wave.

He hopes it's only temporary.

...

He doesn't know whether it's the tie he wears to dinner (Rachel's pick) or the fact that he offers to tie the rings around the napkins (Rachel's suggestion), but her parents _actually_ take a liking to Finn, it seems.

It's not everyday you meet someone whose got two fathers. They're just like any other two parents around, but there's two of them and they're both men and frankly, they both scare Finn like no other. They give Rachel a curfew and they're protective and they care for her a great deal because they're always calling out the window for her on those nights it gets late and Finn and her'll plan to stay out on the grass until midnight. ("_You can't expect to get far if you're willing to lay around in the grass with that Hudson boy all night long! Study, read a book, listen to the radio! Anything!_")

Rachel's parents, for the most part, are uptight. Also, they don't care for Finn. He knows this, though. He tries to blame it on the fact that they're gay and all Rachel does is shake her head, lay it down in his lap and go on for hours about how she hopes society'll eventually come to terms with accepting gay people as if they're just regulars.

"Maybe," Finn'd tell her.

"Not 'maybe'," she'd say, "it'll happen."

But tonight, they like Finn.

"Pass the potatoes, please." The tall one - Leroy, Finn thinks it is - reaches his arms out and over to Finn, an almost-smiled painted across his face. Whether it's fake or real, Finn wishes not to know. It makes him a little less jumpy and a little less nervous and all he can do is pick up the pot of mashed potatoes with gratefulness.

"Yes sir." The feel of Rachel's hand sneakily gearing his kneecap feels nice, and even if he _did _only pass along a pot of mashed potatoes, he feel sort-of accomplished.

"Dad, daddy," Rachel starts, clearing her throat. She lifts one hand from Finn's knee and folds them both in her lap, letting out a small sigh. "What would you say if I told you I'm considering moving?"

They're silent, almost indifferent. It makes Finn start to sweat and almost urges him to ask where the bathroom is because, really, the situation's almost too awkward to handle. But he doesn't. A good boyfriend would stay by their girlfriends' side throughout a conversation like this, no matter how awkward. So he does.

"And just where do you think you're moving to?"

"New York," she says calmly, like the both of her dads aren't glaring directly to her. "New York City."

"The last place a little girl like you needs to venture out on her own to is New York City." The tall one, clearly disappointed, shoots an aggravated look over to Finn like the conversation he's having with his daughter is all Finn's fault.

Shaking her head, she continues, digging her fingers into Finn's forearm. "But I won't be alone! He'd be coming with me."

They're silent. Unimpressed, even.

"He'd take such good care of me," she starts. "He's a wonderful cook and he's wonderful at... well, at lots of things. He's wonderful."

"So," the smaller of the two dads - Hiram, it is - turns to Finn, his glasses sliding down to the crook of his nose, "you plan on moving out there with Rachel, eh? Which one of you crazy kids' idea was this?"

"Mine, sir," Finn breathes.

"And you think it's a _good_ one?"

"Well," Finn's fidgety, Rachel's hand the only thing steadying his tapping knee, "it could be. I mean, Rachel and I could get a small place out in the city and work our way up, couldn't we?"

"You could," the taller one, Leroy, nods hesitantly, tapping his fork steadily on the side of his plate. "Rachel, you'd _really_ give up all you have here in Lima for this boy?"

"That's the thing, daddy," she sighs, "I've got nothing here in Lima. I've got a front lawn and a bedroom the clothes on my back, but I'll never acquire _real_ fame unless I do something about it. And the 'doing something' shall begin in New York City."

"With him?" Leroy looks to Finn, who's fidgeting with the folded napkin at his side, nervously looking down to his untouched plate.

"Finn's a part of my dream," she goes on, nodding confidently. When he feels a squeeze on his leg underneath the table, he lifts up his water glass and can only smile into it. Rachel goes on. "If my settling with Finn makes you uncomfortable, I'm sure we can find others who'll room with us. Maybe I can ask a friend or two if they'd like to join us. I mean, I'm certain no one's hesitant to stay here in Lima."

"And why's that?" Leroy asks, intrigued, almost.

"Because," Rachel says in a hushed tone, "Lima isn't New York."

When her dads say nothing, Finn can only clear his throat nervously, causing Rachel to jolt her head to him.

"New York is what I want," she starts. "And I hope you'll respect that."

And with that, she pushes out her chair, throws the napkin that's on her lap onto the table, holds out one hand for Finn to grab and storms out of the room, only him following behind.

"Rebellious," Finn whispers to her once they're leaned against a bookcase in the hallway of Rachel's home.

"No," she says, letting her hand graze the top of his shoulder. Letting out an elongated breath, "I just love you. That's all."

He ducks his head so he's nipping at the skin on her neck, planting small, hot kisses to her skin. "Thanks," he pulls back for a moment, breathing. "I mean, I love you too. Yeah, I love you too. A lot."

"We're really doing this, you know," she says slowly, taking her hand and letting it fall on his cheek. "Is it wrong of me to be excited?"

He chuckles. "I don't think so."

"Okay. Good."

And she starts to kiss him. Right there in the middle of her hallway, up against a bookshelf belonging to the both of her dads. And even though Finn begins to fidget once he hears a pair of footsteps shuffling along the tile, Rachel doesn't even bother to move an inch.

"Sh," she says, pulling away from the kiss, finger to her lips. "I like this feeling. Rebellion, I mean."

"Yeah," he laughs, "me too."

...

The first night they're in New York, it's chillier than it should be. They're on the floor, a small rug and a center table in the middle of the room. The apartment they're in is on the second floor, the only window in the room cracked open slightly. It's nicer than he'd imagined, but it's kind of lonely too, because, well, it's just the two of them in this empty and apartment and he doesn't even try to lie to himself and say he isn't scared. He is - just a little.

He's never been liked by them, sure, but if it weren't for the help of Rachel's dads, the two of them wouldn't even be here, even if they're kind of on a floor in the middle of a spacious-yet-empty apartment. After a long hour of debating over Rachel's decision, Hiram and Leroy both stood up, hand-in-hand, handed Rachel a check, kissed her forehead and told her, "We'll have to send you on your way one day, won't we?"

They left the room quickly after, leaving Rachel to hold up a fresh check, Finn walking over to the sofa.

"Five grand," he mumbled. "The hell are we gonna do with five grand?"

Shrugging, she tugged him by the collar for a kiss. "Everything."

Rachel's beside Finn now, two throw blankets over her body, letting out a little shiver.

Finn pulls her closer to him, throwing his arm over her shoulder. "Cold?"

"A little," she says softly, scooting in closer to Finn, almost so she's in his lap. "Every night won't be this bad, you know. We'll... we'll buy a mattress and we'll find work. We'll do it."

"I know," he says, looking down to watch Rachel nuzzle her face into his shoulder. "Tomorrow. We'll start looking for work tomorrow."

"No rush," she whispers.

"I know," he says, taking his fingers and twirling the ends of her hair, gripping her brunette locks softly.

"Hey Finn?" She turns to him once he's shut his eyelids and leaned against the table in the center of the room, Rachel's shoulder his only cushion. "Promise me if you're ever unhappy here, you'll let me know. I mean it. If there's a day where you can't do it anymore - where you can't live in New York City anymore - you let me know. We'll leave. We'll call my dads and we'll get out. Don't hide it from me. In fact, don't hide _anything_ from me. I'm your girlfriend and I care about you a great deal."

"I know," he kisses the top of her hair gently. "But I doubt I'll be unhappy here. Ever."

"Maybe you're right."

And with that, they fall asleep. And he's not so sure he even minds falling asleep up against a wooden table with only two throw blankets and an area rug underneath him. He's got Rachel and she's got him and they're together - it's all that could matter right now. Everything'll look up from here, he knows.

...

He trips over the area rug (typical and clumsy Finn Hudson) so Rachel races down to the corner store, buys a medium-sized bag of ice and sprints back to the apartment.

"Here!" She practically jogs in the doorway, out of breath by the time she walks over to the sofa he's lying on. "Is it bad?"

Leaning over and rolling up his pants, he sighs. "Bruised?"

"Check."

"Swollen?"

"Check." She squints her eyes shut and leans down to his ankle, blowing on it gently. "Poor baby. Here, have some ice."

"You really didn't have to."

"But I did!" She exclaims, bending down once more to his ankle and placing the ice gently on top of the swelling. "Now, I've got to run. I _did_ tell you about the restaurant a few blocks down, yes? They're hiring down at Dalton's and I've got myself a spot, practically. I mean, the moment I walked in the door the manager was practically begging me to fill the spot of one of the waitresses that just went on leave."

"Leave?"

"Pregnancy, I'm sure," Rachel says, swinging one of her arms up. "Anyway, I'll be out all afternoon. Be careful. Don't trip on anymore rugs."

"Yes ma'am."

Bending down to kiss his forehead, she lets out a soft giggle. "Here's to getting the job."

"You're _you_," he says. "Of course you'll get the job."

"Yeah, well, it helps to have some luck beforehand, I think."

"Well then," he chuckles, tugging at the collar of her shirt and pulling her down to him, "good luck."

"It feels nice to be supported," she tells him, clutching one hand to her chest.

"Always."

And he smiles even when she shuts the door of their apartment with a slam. She's excited and she's proud, he knows, and he'd never have her any other way.

...

He visits her when she's waitressing. She hasn't picked up too many hours since she's new and young, but he can't help but want to visit her anyway.

She's at the front of the counter, her striped apron and her roller-skates visible all the way from the door. With a wave, she sets down the tray she's carrying and makes her way toward Finn with a small smile.

"Lovely," he sighs, reaching out and twirling the untied string on her apron. "Let me tie this. You'll trip."

Laughing, she looks up to him. "Why are you here? Not that... not that I'm angry with your showing up or anything, but I'll be home in three hours. It's just three hours. And besides, I smell like greasy french fries and Coca-Cola. Did I mention I spilled coke all over myself today?"

Taking one of her hands in his, he shakes his head. "You didn't, but I think it's kind of cute."

"What is?"

"The whole rollerskating thing," he says, looking down to her laced up roller-skates with a laugh. "And you working in a diner. It's cute."

"And temporary," she corrects him. Leaning into his ear now, she whispers, "Until I find a show that's willing to have me, I guess this'll have to do."

"Why whisper? You know you're bound to be a star."

"I wouldn't want to hurt anyones' feelings here," she says. "They're all so good to me - so nice and lovely. I'll take whatever I can get, even if it means working here for a year or two before I find something else."

"Yeah, well, I believe in you."

"I believe in me too," Rachel says, nipping at her bottom lip as she digs into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a notepad. "And I believe in us. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got tons of more orders to fill and a spill to clean up right over there."

"See you at home."

"See you."

It feels ridiculously perfect every time he gets to say that. He doesn't think he'll ever tire of it.

...

One night when Rachel's got a late shift and he's finished fixing the drain in the sink of the old couple in apartment 2D, he's settled back down in the apartment for the night, spread out on the sofa with only the radio on.

"Finn! Finn!" Rachel comes in the door once his eyes are shut and only the jazz station is left playing, the curtains on the window blowing softly over the sofa where he's sitting. "Finn! Wake up!"

"Huh? Is it... Rachel? Rachel!"

She's bent down on the floor beside him, clutching a small, red blanket in her hands. "Look!" Lifting the flap of the blanket, a little grey kitten rests underneath, its eyelids shut and it's head leaned on the floor. "It was outside of the apartment and... well... I couldn't _not_ pick it up. I think it's a boy. I'm... I'm pretty sure it's a boy."

Watching Rachel turn the cat on its side makes Finn laugh. He steps down from the couch and crouches down on the floor next to her, unknowingly taking his finger and making soft strokes into the kitten's fur. "And you can't imagine not keeping it, I'm sure."

"Please?" Sitting up, she blinks twice, then proceeds to throw herself onto Finn's lap, wrapping her arms around him completely. "I'll love you forever."

"We kind of made that deal forever ago," he laughs, taking a piece of her hair and twirling it in between his fingers.

Bending down, Rachel grabs the kitten gently, hoisting it up to Finn. "Look at his precious face," she laughs. "I'm calling him Toto, by the way."

"After Dorothy's dog?"

"Of course."

"But Dorothy's dog was a _dog_," he says. "This kitten is... well... a kitten."

"Oh, sue me for not being creative," she laughs, leaning back into Finn, the kitten still in her grip. "You like it, don't you, little Toto?" She says, her attention back onto the cat, nuzzling her nose to his. "I'll be your mommy, Toto. And Finn over here, he'll be your daddy."

Finn only laughs. This may just be the most adorable thing he's ever seen. Maybe.

Taking her hands and placing them over the kitten's ears, she goes on. "He doesn't want you now, sure, but he'll be a good daddy to you. Promise."

"It's not a baby, Rachel," Finn interrupts, taking his hand and stroking the top of Toto's head.

"But even you love him," she says, batting her eyelashes once as she looks back to Finn with a grin. "Admit it."

"I love _you_," Finn says, taking his index finger and plopping it down on the tip of her nose.

"You'd do anything for me, wouldn't you?"

"Well..." Rachel shoots him a narrow-eyed glance and he chuckles, bringing his hand to the top of her thigh. "Of course I would, Rachel. You're... you're my girlfriend. And my best friend. And to top it all off, we live together. In New York City. At this point you'd have to be practically stupid to think I wouldn't."

Offended, she shoots him a glance.

"You're not stupid," Finn laughs, taking one of her tiny hands away from the kitten and into his. "You just do silly things."

"Like taking in cats," she says, head ducked.

"Like taking in cats," he says slowly, chuckling.

"Am I crazy?" She looks to him and then past him, to the window and the swaying curtain. She's almost emotionless, like some sort of statue; like something he's never seen her look like before. Breathing, she looks back to him, her eyes shutting tightly. "I'm not crazy, right? Moving out to New York City with you wasn't crazy?"

"Rach -"

"Having this dream of making it big someday isn't crazy, is it?" She continues as if he didn't even interrupt. "You believe we'll make it, don't you?"

Closing his eyes, he leans back into the table, almost an exact picture of the same thing he did the first night they arrived at the apartment. Only this time, he's got a grey kitten in between his thighs and a worried Rachel on his lap.

"Eventually," he says. "But maybe things like this take time. Sure, we've got a nice apartment and you've got a nice job and even though I haven't found anything permanent yet, we're making it, but maybe there's more for us out there."

"In New York, you mean," she gulps.

"Wherever the wind takes us."

"Where'd you learn that saying?" Rachel sits up, intrigued.

"Oh, it gets lonely around here when you're at work," he says, "so I listen to the radio. Someone I can't remember started listing all of this inspirational sayings and that was just one of them."

Leaning over, she kisses him on the nose, then giggles. "Well, hopefully the wind'll let us stay here."

...

They're short on money because of that entire week Rachel took off from work after having the flu. Finn's helped around the neighborhood, installing some parts for some people. Nothing big, really, but it's earned him a few bucks here and there and he figures it's good do to _something_, so he does.

They're downtown one morning by of Walgreens when they spot an ad for the corner shop advertising its annual poster contest.

Running up to the glass, Rachel places her palm to the window. "Perfect!"

"What is?" Finn, running to catch up to her, lets out a huff when he sees his girlfriend pressed against the glass, her fingers running up and down the poster. "What is that?"

"It's a modeling contest," she exclaims, turning around to Finn and grabbing him by the hand. "It's one day of the year where you dress your best and come on down to McKinley's. The final contestants will be considered for a spot as the official spokeswoman for their advertisements that go up this spring. How neat is that?"

"Pretty neat," he nods. "You should go for it. Lord knows you're pretty damn beautiful."

"Well," she chuckles, tapping her finger to the glass, "I just might have to."

"Great," he laughs, holding his hand out for her to place her own in as they continue strolling along the street.

"I mean, how wonderful would it be to walk down these very streets and see _myself_, Rachel Berry, on each and every one of those posters from McKinley's?"

"Pretty wonderful." He takes her hand to his lips, kisses it and then jumps once she gasps.

"I have to run out and buy cat food," she hits herself on the forehead. "Come along?"

"It's almost worse than having a baby."

"Really?" She chuckles. "I think it's good practice."

He can only smile when she winks.

...

She strolls into their apartment at around five in the evening one Sunday, her peacoat buttoned to the top and gloves covering her tiny hands as she drops the key she's holding to the counter.

"Rachel?" Finn leans up from where he's sitting on the couch and walks over to her, taking his hand and pressing it down on her tiny shoulder.

Shifting all of her weight onto him, she falls. Then, she cries. "I need a hug. Maybe two... hundred."

"What happened?"

Sniffling, she only leans into him harder. "Life, I suppose."

"You didn't get picked to be the spokeswoman, did you?"

She starts to sob uncontrollably now.

He takes her into his arms, leaning down and grabbing her around the waist, hosting her up his torso. "Better?" He says once she's leaning her head into the cove of his neck, letting her tears fall steadily onto the collar of his shirt.

"Am I pretty?" She asks, looking to him with tear-filled eyes. The next second, she dips her head back underneath his neck and starts to cry once more.

"Who told you that you weren't? Hm? Because you _know_ I'm not the least bit afraid to march out of this apartment and deal with it myself."

"The girl who won was blonde," Rachel starts, "and thin. She had ringlets, beautiful curls. And she wore a white dress despite the cold weather and she spoke with such poise and class and she held a conversation with everyone. All of the men, even. And of course, she allotted herself to be wooed by each and every one of them because she could. She was single, I suppose. Single and beautiful and just... lovely. And here I am, with my too-big of a nose and my stomach that's hardly close to being perfectly flat and my disproportionate body. I mean, I stand at just above five feet and this woman was close to six, I'm betting on it. Six feet of nothing but pure beauty."

Shaking his head, he hoists Rachel even higher on his torso, stroking her backside. "And you think you aren't filled with poise or something? I mean, not that I'm one-hundred percent sure what that means, but..."

Laughing, she lifts her head up and begins to stroke the side of his cheek with her hand. "I'm not pretty," she says. "Not typically pretty, anyway."

"And since when is that wrong?" He asks. "I mean, being uniquely pretty is better. Look at you."

She looks down at herself for a moment, then starts to sob. The only thing he can do is carry her over to the mirror in the hallway, reaching up and turning on the light switch with a smile.

"Look at you."

"I'm looking," she says, half-hidden in his arms and half-glancing into the mirror.

"I am too," he breathes. "And I see a pretty beautiful lady."

"I think you're obligated to say that by now," she laughs. "You're my boyfriend, Finn."

"And I also love you," he says, still stroking her backside gently with his hands. "Sure, Rachel, our relationship isn't always perfect but don't think I don't notice the good things about you. If I loved you for only your looks, it... it wouldn't be right."

"Why do you love me then? Hm?" Jumping down from his arms, she stands in front of the mirror in the hallway. She looks at herself up and down once, then proceeds to take the ends of her peacoat and fiddle with the fabric. Sighing, she turns to Finn.

"Fetch me a pen and paper from the bookshelf and I'll tell you," he says, laughing.

"Are you being serious or is this another one of your jokes?"

"I'm serious," he nods. "Go fetch me a pen and a piece of paper from one of those old journals we both know you haven't touched since we moved in. Go."

Tugging at her lip, she sprints over to the bookshelf.

"Careful!"

Before she hears him, Rachel trips and falls right over one of the cat's water dishes. Landing with a bang to the wood floor, she sits up and begins to run her hand over her knee steadily.

"Rachel, I told you to be careful," he says, crouching down so he's got a better view of her knee. Taking his hand, he makes small strokes on her kneecap. "You need ice? I can always run down the block real quick and fetch some. I swear, we've got no luck when it comes to this apartment. My ankle, your knee..."

Laughing, she looks to him. "I'm fine. More than fine."

"With your bruised up knee and everything, huh?"

She nods.

"See?" When Rachel, confused, looks at herself up and down, she tilts her head back over to Finn. "You're still practically perfect, bruised knee and all. Would've never known the difference."

"Finn Hudson," she laughs, tugging at his neck until his face meets hers, just inches away from her forehead, "_you're_ the perfect one."

"Far from it."

He's flattered that Rachel believes so, really, but he knows it's so far from the truth it's a complete and total lie. But he'll never tell her, though. She's already got a crushed knee; there's no need for a crushed spirit, too.

He just thinks she believes in him, that's all.

...

She's got her apron tied around her back, her hair up in a ponytail and the radio playing softly in the background.

Finn's got a half-empty beer bottle and one of the old books Rachel's propped up on the shelf, barely turning the pages. He's watching her as she swivels her hips at the counter, one moment bending down and picking up a cookie tray and the next spilling flour all over the countertop.

"Clumsy," he says with a laugh, peering over the book he's holding and smiling at her.

"Rude," she says with snark.

"Still love you," he adds with a shrug, giving her a small wink as she leans forward and uses a dishrag to clean up the rest of the spilled flour.

It takes him two seconds, but as soon as a jazz song that he actually recognizes starts to play, he closes the book, pushes his beer bottle aside and grabs Rachel by the hips.

"What are you doing?" She says, giggling, turning around to him, her hands still covered to her wrists in flour.

"Dancing with you," he says, taking her hands in his. "We've never done something like this before."

"I never said we had to _start_."

"Don't complain," he says, "just dance."

Tugging on his wrists, she starts to giggle. "And just when did you become Sammy Davis Jr.? Jazz? Finn, you _never_ appreciated jazz before."

"It's always the little things in life," he says. "Moving to New York taught me that you've got to appreciate the little things in life. And you - you taught me that, too."

"How?"

Dipping Rachel away from his body, he leans over to the counter, presses his index finger into the pile of flour and presses it to her nose.

"Gotcha."

"Yeah," she leans in, nuzzling her nose against Finn's. "Yeah, you did."

It's the little things in life, he knows.

...

She sings in the shower most mornings. It's just something he's been accustomed to, almost like a routine.

But one morning instead of singing, she only sobs. She sobs until he can't take it any longer.

Rolling off of the couch, he tiptoes into the bathroom, the door thankfully unlocked. Slipping off his shoes and then his socks, he grips the curtain with one hand and rips it open, letting out a soft, "Sh."

"Finn!" Rachel jumps, throwing her hands over her naked body. "What are you doing?"

He watches as she ducks her head, then begins to yank off his undershirt, leaving only his boxers on. "There's no need to cry, sunshine."

"You don't say," she says sarcastically, plopping her body down to the bottom of the shower, leaving the water to hit only her hair. She curls her knees close to her, hugging them with her trembling arms. Ducking her head, she starts to sob even harder then before.

"Rachel," he crouches down beside her, his boxers soaked in the water, "tell me what's wrong."

"You wouldn't be mad at me if I told you I'd been fired, right?"

Taking his sobbing girlfriend into his arms, he only shakes his head. "No." His breath is hot on her shivering skin as he pulls her even closer, letting her practically rest in his lap until the moment she stops sobbing.

It's the worst shower he's ever taken, but yet he doesn't think he'd ever let her go through that alone. Ever.

...

They don't talk about it much. They never talk about why she'd been fired and they always take a different route every time they know they're bound to pass Dalton's restaurant. Always.

But Rachel's ecstatic today, her hand in Finn's as she strolls beside him along the busy, bright New York streets. It'd snowed the night before so the ground's wet and uncomfortable but yet he feels so at home; so at ease. Rachel's hand is in his and she's babbling on and on about some audition she's confident at acing.

"I can taste it on my tongue, Finn," she starts. "Stardom. Fame. This audition'll be it, I swear."

That night she comes home close to midnight, unbuttons and throws her peacoat onto the armchair beside the door, and plops herself down on the couch to Finn.

"Don't cry," he says, sitting up with Toto in his lap, delivering small streaks to his backside. "Toto and I missed you."

"You're the only ones who appreciate me, you know," she says softly, leaning her head onto his shoulder as she takes a deep breath in. Only he knows she's trying her hardest not to cry, but he doesn't bother reminding her not to again.

"Sometimes life works that way," he says. "Sometimes you've only got one friend. Two if you count the kitten."

"He counts," Rachel nods. "You both count."

...

Things couldn't be going better for Finn. Mr. Hansen down in 2D's found a new job for him. It's down at a mechanic and repair shop and he'll be paid minimum wage, but as soon as he hears the words "you can work your way up" he's made up his mind.

"Rachel!" He screams, running in the door. He sprints over to the sofa where his girlfriend is laying down, their kitten in her lap. She continues delivering small strokes to his ear and Finn questions whether or not she sees him or she's simply ignoring him. "Rachel?"

Looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, she starts to sniffle. "I didn't get the role. Yet again. Hell, I hardly got a callback."

"That's... that's -"

"You don't have to say it."

So he doesn't. He doesn't say anything. He just walks over to the kitchen where she's set out a plate for him, grabs it and walks into the bedroom with it. (He can deal with Rachel's 'no-eating-on-the-bed-because-it's-basically-a-symbol-for-attracting-mice-in-the-apartment' rule later on). He doesn't even tell her about the job because, well, he's not sure he wants to rub it in her face. That's what this whole thing feels like; a big kick in the face to Rachel.

It feels too wrong.

...

They plan to go out to a bar one night, Rachel in a simple-yet-long, black evening dress and Finn in a suit.

"I hate this."

"Please," Rachel begs, tugging on his wrists, "for me? Everyone from the board'll be there - everyone important to the theatrical department, anyway."

"So that's why you decided on the bar, huh? You could've just said so, Rachel."

"It's embarrassing," she says, shaking her head and letting her hair fall down in front of her face.

"How so?"

"I'll never be one of them," she ducks her head. "Ever."

Sighing, he places his hand in hers, tugs her over to the couch and presses down on her shoulders. "Sit."

"Finn, you really don't -"

"No, Rachel," he says, shaking his head, "I want to. I want you to know that no matter how hard you try - no matter how many auditions you go on - there's gonna be disappointment. Hell, you won't always be happy. You won't always have good days and not everyone'll like you. It's life. It took me six months to find a job out here. _Six_. And who says it'll be permanent? Who says that in four months I won't be out looking for another one? Same goes with you, Rachel. You won't always be satisfied. You won't always be content. But if there's one thing that'll make you happy, make you content even, _please_ let it be me."

Rachel lifts a finger underneath her eyelid, wiping at a fallen tear. "Finn..."

"There's a reason we work," he says, running his fingers gently over her knuckles. "There's _always_ a reason."

"Radio show?"

"You betcha," he nods. "Rachel, just... trust me. I'm not good with words. Never have been, never will be. But, there's gotta be some way I can prove it all to you; some way that I can prove the way we work and why."

Clutching at her chest with her hand, Rachel gulps. That tells him to work harder, taking his sweaty, fidgety hand and placing it to the floor.

"We work because, well, we're us. We're Finn and we're Rachel and we're happiest when we're together, aren't we? Hell, I'm not saying we're perfect. I'm not even saying we're close. But we know a helluva lot about one another. I mean, we've only lived together for what... six or seven months?"

Nodding, Rachel tugs at her bottom lip with her teeth and arches a brow.

"I know you only like the left side of the bed," he starts. "And the window - you've always got to be near the window. But it can only be half-open, never fully - always. You like breakfast only when it's toast but you hate when I drench my toast in butter so you always tell me never to make it that way. You yell at me when I leave the toilet seat up and when I kiss you to apologize, you threaten to put the cat's food in my dinner. You like taking sips - and only sips - of my fancy beer and then you make that face. Y'know..."

Pulling her top lip over her bottom, Rachel scrunches up her eyes and nose and starts to giggle.

"That one," he laughs. "I know a helluva lot about you, Rachel."

Leaning forward, she rests her hand on his shoulder and pecks him on the lip. "I'm shocked you remember all of those."

"And there's more," he says. "Tons more. And once you become famous and on Broadway or wherever you'd like to go, I'll be there to tell more stories. I'll be there so much that whenever you mess up I'll know." He winks at her.

"Gee, thanks."

"It's what good boyfriends do."

If there's one thing he knows he is, it's that he's a good boyfriend. A 'splendid' one, as Rachel never fails to remind him.

...

Finn Hudson thinks Rachel Berry's talented. Fantastically talented, almost.

She nails every single line, every single song and looks effortlessly stunning onstage every single time.

Her makeup never runs, her microphone never fails on her and her fellow actors look overjoyed just to be on stage with her.

He's in the audience so much he can practically recite every one of her lines; sing every one of her songs.

Once she's done for the night he's always at the stage door, sometimes a bouquet of flowers in his hand. Other times a card. One time a cat.

"You can't bring him in here!" Rachel scoffs, stomping her foot to the ground as she takes Finn's hand in hers and leads him behind the door and into a small room he's more than unfamiliar with.

"He loves you just as much as I do," Finn says, head ducked by Rachel's with a whisper. "Maybe more."

"Doubt that," Rachel says, leaning in for a kiss. She doesn't even care that her makeup'll run off on him or that she'll completely mess up her lipstick. She kisses him right then and there - hard.

"By the way," he says once they pull apart, "I'd rather see your face on those billboards and those posters out there then on those McKinley advertisements."

"Really?" She says, enthralled. Grabbing the kitten from him with one arm, she lifts him to her side and starts to rub his ear. "You've got some kind of daddy, haven't you, Toto? Sneaking you backstage. Tsk tsk."

"Really," Finn gulps. "It's much more classy. You're a lady."

"And you're a man," she says. "Men enjoy six-foot blondes with bigger busts then a head and those tiny torsos that could be rulers."

"Not me," Finn says, scooting closer to Rachel and taking her hand in his. "I like my women short. And brunette. And with something other than _skin_," he says, running his fingers over Rachel's stomach. "Also, my woman is a Broadway superstar, I'm sure."

Flushing in the cheeks, she stands on her tiptoes and pecks him on the jaw.

"What was that for?" He asks, taking his hand to the skin on his jaw and leaving it there for a moment, smiling.

Breathing, she nestles Toto to her cheeks and smiles. "For believing me. And us, too."

"My pleasure."

"You're a really lovely boyfriend, Finn," she says with a nod like he's holding up the entire world or something. She looks _that_ proud.

"It's my pleasure, again," he says. "You're quite the girlfriend yourself."

"I really love you," she says. "Too much, maybe."

"It was my only real goal, you know," he tells her. Once she raises a brow to him, he knows he'll have to elaborate. He tries not to. "In New York," he says. "My only goal was to let you realize how much we loved each other; how easy it is to love one another here. It is easy, isn't it?"

Nodding, she cuddles Toto even closer to them, squeezing him in between her and Finn and letting out a sigh.

It's practically perfect, that moment. It's just the two of them - three if you count Toto and, well, according to Rachel, Toto counts - and it's perfect. So, so perfect.

"You really are such a wonderful boyfriend," she repeats herself.

Really, he can't imagine being anything but a good boyfriend to Rachel Berry. She's practically a star-in-the-making. Practically.


End file.
